


Something to Talk About

by Killaurey



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Future Fic, Politics, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 15:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killaurey/pseuds/Killaurey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU/Futurefic] Hanabi and Hinata have never gotten along, living side by side, as strangers rather than sisters. When their father dies, Hanabi is left in control of the Clan: just in time to deal with a highly sensitive political issue that may rip Konoha apart. And to make things worse, Hinata chooses to be on the opposite side of the same issue...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Independent

Sixteen was too old to stumble on her way out of the too hot room where her Father was… was dead and Hinata was crying by his side. Hinata’s team—the burly Inuzuka, and the intense Aburame—were keeping an eye on Hinata. Hanabi was alone. Her team was out doing other things and she hadn’t asked them to come. This was a Clan matter, and none of their concern.

Hanabi, therefore, didn’t stumble. Refused to stumble. Had her pride hold her up, keep her head straight and her eyes clear as she left the room with a nod to the attendants. They would take care of her Father now. And there was no time for her to grieve over the dead. Besides, she thought, Hinata would do enough of that for the both of them.

Outside the air was chill. Refreshing. A brisk wind whipped her hair, tangling the strands and Hanabi couldn’t find it in her to care enough to tie it back. Even just being outside made her feel less… disconnected; disjointed. A little bit broken, a little bit raw.

He was gone, and she’d have to deal with that. Somehow.

Hanabi leaned against the railing and surveyed the compound. Father was dead. Gone. Not unexpectedly, not after the last few years, but all the same… for some reason it was, deep down, a surprise.

She hadn’t _really_ thought that he’d ever leave.

Even after the doctors and the medic-nin had said the same thing. _Incurable_. _Slow-acting_.

Poisoned.

She still hadn’t really believed it. Hokage-sama was supposed to be able to cure anything like that. And both her and her apprentice had tried. Now, Hanabi was finding that she had to believe it—it had already happened—and she didn’t like it one bit.

Quiet footsteps jerked her out of her thoughts and Hanabi glanced down the balcony. “Oh,” she said, “it’s just you.”

His shoulders stiffened slightly, and she knew that what she’d said bothered him. “Hyuuga-sama,” he said in his precise voice, a trifle cool, “your sister is looking for you.”

Hanabi winced at the title. That’s right, it was hers now. “She wouldn’t have sent you, Aburame-san, if she’d really wanted me found. Nor,” Hanabi continued, her voice sharpening, “does my sister have any right to try and order me around.”

Not any longer.

Even if it had never been that effective in the first place. Hanabi was too strong willed, unafraid to be defiant, and scornful of her sister for Hinata to be able to order her around easily. The five years gap between them had not held much sway over her.

“I did not say she’d sent me to find you.” He came to a stop not far from her. “Rather, I merely informed you of Hinata’s movement.”

She eyed him. Never mind that his glasses made it all but impossible to tell what his expression was. “What does she want?” Hanabi asked finally.

There was the faint sense of him shrugging. “Presumably she wishes to speak of your Father’s last decision.”

“There’s nothing to speak of,” she said, “he named me leader of the Clan. Hinata will just have to accept it.”

It wasn’t like it was a surprise or anything. Hanabi had been sure he’d name her the leader since as long as she could remember.

He let that one pass. She wondered if he’d expected her to answer anything else.

“You weren’t surprised, I noticed, by the decision.” It wasn’t a question.

She glanced sideways at him. “Of course not,” Hanabi said. “He’s only been training me to take over for the Clan since before I was a Genin.”

He nodded. “That was my assumption.”

Hanabi wondered at the implications of that. “You didn’t assume Hinata would be chosen?” If anything, she’d rather thought that might be one of the few things he’d have assumed.

“I didn’t think that Hinata would be named as such by your father,” he said, slowly, as if considering his words carefully. “Knowing what I did of the climate of your clan, you were the more likely candidate.”

Hanabi shrugged, forced nonchalance though it looked real enough. “I know he softened up a lot towards her,” she noted. “Some people thought that was indicative of him reconsidering his options.”

“I,” he said, and this time there was no mistaking the coolness in his voice, “am not just anyone.”

Oh, he had an ego. She smirked slightly, at the sound of him so annoyed, and shook out her hair. “I wouldn’t know,” Hanabi pointed out. “I’m hardly going to hang around with her crowd. Five years younger, and unfavoured by her friends. Not to mention Uzumaki…”

She felt rather than saw his frown. “He’s a good ninja, and faithful to the village,” Hanabi elaborated, wondering why she felt the need to justify her comments to him. “But he’s a bleeding heart. To him, everyone can be redeemed; every bad guy ought to be given another chance.” A pause, then she continued on, “every Sasuke must be brought back into the fold.”

He couldn’t argue with that, and so, as she expected, didn’t. No doubt he remembered better than she what had happened to Uchiha when Uzumaki had refused to give up and accept that the other was the enemy now.

“If you’ve such training as you say,” he said after a few moments, “then you are aware of what issue will likely be your first as head of the clan to deal with in council.”

Again, it wasn’t a question. Hanabi was getting the impression that he didn’t ask many questions. Not unless he absolutely had to.

She looked at him sharply; frowning. “Excuse me?”

There was the impression of a sardonic smile. “I, too, am heir of my clan,” he reminded her crisply. “My father furthermore is an active shinobi still. It would not be prudent to find myself less than completely conversant with the pertinent information of matters at hand.”

“Then I can admit to knowing about the motion to raise the graduation age of the Academy,” Hanabi said, not acknowledging her lapse while, at the same time, acknowledging that he was right in his reasoning.

She kept the scorn from touching her voice, though it was well enough evident in her expression. The motion had been petitioned to be brought before the council by the Hokage, no doubt who was doing it as a favour to Uzumaki, and she felt her lip curling. “They’ll kill us all.”

“You think so?”

She shook her head. “I feel so.” There was a difference, albeit subtle. “They’re only seeing the present and assuming the future will continue to be so prosperous. We’ll only be weakened by this idea if it goes through.”

A moment then of silence as she wondered what he was thinking and just as he might have spoken, there was the quiet hush of measured footsteps and then Neji was turning around the corner. Shino seemed to withdraw further into himself, becoming taller and more distant.

“Hanabi,” Neji said, almost severely.

Trying not to wince at how his voice seemed to cut through the night, she straightened her shoulders, spared a moment to wish that she could have heard Aburame Shino’s answer, and met her cousin’s eyes. “Neji,” she said, calmly, “what is it?”

She watched him take in the fact that she’d been conversing, alone, with someone and saw his eyes narrow very slightly. All he said though, perfectly polite, if curt, “Your sister requires your attendance.”

Hanabi shook her head. “My sister,” she said sharply, ”doesn’t command anything from me.”

“And yet,” Shino’s voice came softly, hardly above a whisper, and she wondered if Neji could sense the amusement in it, “we should attend.”

That made her pause, coming up short on the retort that had been about to pass her lips, as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

He just bowed his head. “Hyuuga-sama.”

More amusement, but now Hanabi wondered if she were the target for his humour, or if it were Neji. She couldn’t decide which it was that made her lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Lead the way, Aburame,” she said disdainfully, purposefully leaving off the honorific with a toss of her head.

Her father was dead. She was the head of Hyuuga. Hanabi wrapped those two thoughts around her and kept her back straight, her eyes clear as she followed Aburame Shino down the hall. Neji paced behind her, steps smooth and measured.

She had the oddest feeling that the Aburame approved.

* * *

The halls were quiet. Hinata had taken herself off to bed hours ago and the Inuzuka and Aburame had been shown out. Even Neji had retired, murmuring something about a mission tomorrow. Servants would see to her father’s body, there was no need for her to be there.

Instead, Hanabi walked, her steps silent and each one measured as her eyes traced the line of the walls, the ceilings, the curves in the floor. Much like a child exploring for the first time a place that was new. Well and true—was this not all new to her? It was her responsibility now.

Silently, and glad for the peace, Hanabi drifted almost without purpose through the halls of the compound. The few servants she passed bowed their heads and stepped to the side. She nodded graciously to them, and left the silence unbroken.

It was without surprise, and yet the faintest sliver of something much like it, that she found herself, at last, standing outside the door to her father’s study. Before she could think better of it, or before anyone saw her and wondered at her behaviour, Hanabi pushed the door open, slipped inside, then closed and locked the door behind her.

Only then did she allow herself to pause and breath. The room still smelled of him, and it was not the sweet sickly smell that he’d been adorned with in the last few months. It was a warmer scent, a bit of spice, hardly noticeable but unmistakably present.

More than anything else that evening, it made her miss her father. Hanabi took a seat in his chair, remembering how he had spent hours leaning just so, as she stood and listened to what he was explaining to her solemnly.

“Hyuuga’s duty is the same as it ever was,” he’d said once, “against the progressives, we remind them all that there is strength in tradition. Our strength is in tradition, and what change comes must come slowly.”

She’d nodded then, memorizing the words. Now, years later, she could understand better what he meant. Tradition had its own dangers, of course, but it had become tradition by _working_.

Only a fool did not change at all. But equally a person was a fool if they thought to be nothing but change.

“As you said,” she murmured, speaking to her father though he was dead. “I will be the balance to the changes that are coming.” The ones that Hinata supported. “I won’t fail, Father.”

Let that stand as her way of mourning. She had no time for tears.

* * *

Days passed, preparations were made, and almost before she knew it, it was the night before her first council meeting. Hanabi supposed, vaguely, that she ought to be more panicked about it than she was but instead, as she brushed her hair out in preparation for bed, it was almost a let down. She knew what she would have to do, where she would have to sit, and already planned what she'd chose.

There was always a chance, of course, of her changing her mind after hearing it out in person, but from the materials she'd found on her father's desk detailing the motion... well, she would not be changing her mind. That, at least, would not be a let down. Not with a discussion topic like that. _That_ was quite interesting, and if she’d already had her mind made up, it would be the reactions of others that would hold her attention there.

She surveyed herself in the floor length mirror that had, once upon a time, been her mother’s before it had come to her, and studied her reflection. Young, she thought, and nothing could be done about that. Make-up would only make her appear as if she had something to hide. And young though she was for a Clan Head, Hanabi would not be _childish_. The figure she cut was not one that would dishonour the Clan. That would more than suffice.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Hanabi tucked a bit of hair behind one ear, setting her hairbrush to the side and sitting up straighter. “Come in.”

Hinata slipped into the room, clad much as she was in a loose robe and hair unbound. Hanabi had to suppress a sigh. Must she deal with this right now? She'd been successful at avoiding Hinata for the last few days, a task made easy by the many things she'd been dealing with that had fallen to the side with her father's long decline.

“Hanabi.”

“Hinata.” Her voice was cool and effortless, a simple imitation of father. Hanabi watched Hinata try not to flinch at that. So easy to set her off balance still, Hanabi wondered if it was because she missed father, or because bad memories of him still cut. It didn't much matter to her. “I’ve only a few minutes.” So speak up.

“You know what the council means to speak about tomorrow,” her sister said after a moment, almost defiantly.

That made her pause. “I do.” And, her thoughts continued, you shouldn’t. Uzumaki couldn’t keep his mouth shut again, no doubt. The Hokage favoured him ridiculously. Hanabi forced the irritation away for now, keeping her face serene.

The lack of further response made Hinata flustered. Perhaps she'd expected a cutting remark? Or a disdainful one. Hanabi watched dispassionately as she gathered her thoughts, marshalled her opinions. “What do you mean to vote?”

Hanabi raised her eyebrows incredulously and kept her silence. _Which way do you think?_ There was only one vote that made sense to her, the other was a fools dream. But then, of course, Hinata always had had a soft spot for one fool in particular, and was tenderhearted enough to truly believe that this mad idea of Uzumaki's was a good one.

Hinata flushed. “It’s just… we were talking…,” and ‘we’ in this case meant Hinata and Uzumaki, that was clear.

"Talking," Hanabi said, letting the faint sarcasm come through.

"Yes, about... the council..."

“You don’t have a vote,” Hanabi said, deciding that it was best to shut down that trail of thought quickly. “Nor do I remember informing you of what the meeting was to be about." Hanabi knew, had she wished, she could, in fact, do far worse that a mild reproof of, "I will take it into consideration your opinion, but I will not vote your way just because you were thinking so.”

“Hanabi, I…” Hinata was staring at her, eyes wide, and Hanabi wondered if her sister had _really_ thought it would be so easy to get her to do what she, and Uzumaki, wished for. On this issue especially. Or if her sister had not realized what rules she was already breaking just by knowing about the meeting and the contents thereof.

“Is it understood?” Cold, she could be cold. And she was angry—this bill was something that had been cooked up by Uzumaki, she understood that. Hanabi even understood the reasoning behind it; it made sense, if you took Uzumaki’s limitations into account.

She said none of that though. Admitting that she’d given it much thought would only serve to make Hinata think that she could be swayed. There was no time to sway her. “I’m retiring for the night,” Hanabi said, turning away from her sister smoothly. “Tell Haruko that she's to ascertain I'm not to be disturbed for unless it's an emergency.”

It was a dismissal. Had it been the other way around, Hanabi would never have stood for it. Hinata did, and left.

* * *

Neji arrived with a lone knock on her door and her permission to enter. She smoothed down her robes of office, much like her usual robes, only the fabric was richer, and tucked her hair behind one ear. "Neji," she said, "I called for you fifteen minutes ago. Is everyone who will attend assembled?"

“Hinata was unsettled,” Neji noted mildly, and that was answer enough, "and your counsel is ready."

“Let us go then. Hinata was questioning things she shouldn’t have knowledge of,” Hanabi replied, as they left her rooms and headed through the compound, unsurprised that her sister would have gone babbling to someone. “Uzumaki may be a fine ninja, but he cannot keep his mouth shut. I did not appreciate her attempts to tell me how to make up my mind.”

That, she knew, Neji could not argue with. However large his respect for Uzumaki, she spoke only the truth and a well known one at that. “I was unaware that she had knowledge of it beyond the rumours circulating,” he said instead, as they walked.

Hanabi tucked a bit of hair behind one ear again and nodded. “More than a rumour, I would say, from her general demeanour. Her opinion on it is about what was expected. Always the bleeding heart, and sweet on Uzumaki as well.”

Neither, in her opinion, was a good thing.

They were silent as they made it to the Hokage Tower and were admitted into the Council chamber by two Chuunin she didn't recognize on sight. She made a note to remember them for the next time and then Hanabi went unerringly to where Hyuuga Clan was given seats and, without pause, took her place in her father’s chair. Why would she hesitate? This was what her father had wanted her to do. To guide Hyuuga and keep it strong and safe.

It was early yet; Hanabi had timed it deliberately so she might see the expressions on other Clan Head’s faces when they realized who they were dealing with.

Not Hinata, as rumour said. But Hanabi. She'd not made an effort to dispel the rumours, they'd amused her, and it made the reactions far more interesting. They'd come prepared for a sheep, and they got a fox. Hanabi wanted to grin when Hinata’s Inuzuka all but tripped over his feet when he saw her. She didn’t though; it would have been unseemly to do so. Aburame, looking much like his father, _the_ Aburame, nodded slightly to her. A nod just as slight was her response to that.

“Come to order,” Hokage-sama’s voice rang out in the room, shushing the murmuring and then waiting while the seats were settled down in.

Hanabi didn’t move. Hyuuga Clan was already at order, Neji to her left and a few of the Elders behind her. In the end though, anything that was said, was up to her. She could ask their opinions, of course, but doing so—today—would only make her look weak. And that was not going to happen.

Although her father’s notated copy of Uzumaki’s plan to have the graduation age of the average academy student raised from twelve to fourteen had given her a solid grounding in what to expect, she listened intently as it was laid out formally to the council.

Uzumaki himself was there, looking nervous, though he wasn’t the one speaking. She wondered at that, idly, as she listened. Should he not be speaking? It was his idea, that much was clear, but instead the one speaking was a man she didn’t recognize. A quick note, all of two seconds in writing, and then it disappeared into Neji’s hands, gave orders for someone to find out who the spokesperson was.

He should do it himself, she thought, that was only right. Bring something stupid before the council and you deserved to be proven stupid without deflecting blame onto others. Hanabi almost pitied him, so far over his head he was.

It was well researched, to a degree, she decided as the meeting went on. Certainly, the statistics said quite a bit about the dangers of allowing twelve year-olds into battle. The numbers of the dead spoke loudly. But, also, rather inaccurately. She fought not to show her frown as Uzumaki’s spokesperson went on outlining the data. There was no doubt that _they_ believed their work, and that there was enough truth in it to sound reasonable to nearly anyone.

Until you stopped and recalled the history behind the numbers. The class of nineteen students that had all been killed twenty years ago--that wasn't because they'd graduated early and been Genin on active duty. That had been a skilled ambush by Kumo, and the students had only been out learning the basics of camping. Who had been the one to teach him history? It was covered in the Academy—every student since the incident had been told of it.

All around the room people were looking thoughtful. Some, like her, nearly frowning, others were leaning over to murmur to their heirs. Eventually, though, it wound down and Hokage-sama was standing as Uzumaki’s spokesperson stepped off, and out of center floor. Uzumaki himself looked, in the quick glance she afforded him, almost worried. She wondered if he'd expected a different reaction from the quiet murmur of voices and the plethora of frowns.

“As custom,” Tsunade said, and Hanabi wondered if the Hokage even realized the disdain she put into that word. Custom, as everything, had its place. It was important. “Votes will be cast in Clan Order. Begin.”

Oldest Clan to youngest. Once upon a time Uchiha would have gone second. Hyuuga had always been first though. Hanabi stood, stepping forward so that she was clearly visible to everyone in the room.

A moment then, before she spoke. “Hyuuga; against.” Her voice was clear and cool, and she felt rather than saw Neji’s approving nod. In this, she could not afford weaknesses, especially not in her demeanour.

Let them not find Hyuuga weak just because a child was in command. At sixteen, having been on active duty since ten, she was no child. If Neji did not care for her decision, well, he would not say anything in so public a venue. That was well enough for her, though Hanabi rather thought that he’d refuse to commit himself either way. Too many loyalties to choose from, he would sit on the fence and try to keep to himself.

As silence spread throughout the room, Hanabi kept her eyes steady, and her face impassive, as she focused on the Fifth Hokage, not looking around to the expressions. She’d get the information, the impressions later. At the moment she had to look every inch the serene, imposing, Clan Head that she could.

Hokage-sama nodded, and Hanabi sat gracefully, back straight and eyes straight ahead as a soft susurrus of whispers raced through the council room. Where they evaluating her? Of course they were. They could afford no less.

Hanabi listened attentively as other Clans cast their votes. She noted the way their eyes flicked to her, but didn’t outwardly react. _Be as ice_ , her father had said not even a year ago when he’d permitted her to accompany him to a meeting much like this. _Be cold, and don’t let them rattle you._

She wasn’t rattled. Her head felt clear, and her hands were steady. Underneath it all Hanabi felt almost exhilarated. This, she thought, was why her father hadn’t minded as much as he might have when he’d become head of the family and removed from missions.

This was just like a mission. Only words instead of kunai, facial expressions rather than Jyuuken. This was something that needed the same fearlessness mellowed with caution that a mission required. Different stakes, but it was the same game. It might have deserved laughter had she not been where she was.

Aburame was against. Inuzuka; for.

She wondered what her sister would have to say about that.


	2. Miss Invisible

_Pick your battles._

Kurenai-sensei had told her that when she’d still been just a Genin, and so shy that even _she_ was embarrassed for the girl that, once upon a time, she’d been. Hinata, though, had listened. And learned. Years later and she was still quiet, still didn’t care for being in the spotlight—but a great deal less shy and tentative. It was, of course, always hardest in her own home. Hanabi looked so much like their mother, and sounded so much like their father, that Hinata seldom could bring herself to stand fast and hold her case against her.

She paced, silently, after Naruto and the Hokage. Her thoughts turning over how the council meeting had gone. Not as well as Naruto had hoped, she knew, but after talking to Hanabi the night before Hinata had not expected a different result. The Hyuuga Clan’s opinion mattered a great deal, after all, Hanabi had passed her expectations for impressing the rest of the council. When had she grown up so much? And so coldly...

Probably, Hinata decided, about the same time that she had been busy breaking out of her own shell. Only Hanabi’s growth was far more commented upon.

“The vote was poor,” Naruto said, sounding almost petulant, though she knew that he was deadly serious about it. “Less were for the idea than we’d hoped.”

“Not unexpectedly,” Tsunade-sama replied, “and it was a closer vote than the traditionalists cared for.”

They’d lost the vote, but only by a few percent. Too close by far, and yet too far away from having a bill passed through to alter the law yet. Nothing like this, nothing with such consequences that would be _truly_ far reaching could be passed at the whim of a Hokage. It was why they had to take the slow, painfully inching way of moving forward.

She slipped off down a side hallway, with a nod and smile as she parted from them. Already she could tell the way their conversation would go. No, Hinata was far more interested in hearing the rationale of her teammates. Truthfully, they seldom went out in the team they’d started out with these days. Not with Kurenai-sensei occupied with raising Asuma-sensei’s son, and their specialty’s had developed to the point where they could, and were, more effective in other teams. But the bonds of friendship were still as strong as they’d ever been, and she wished to hear the whys and becauses of Aburame voting one way and Inuzuka voting the other.

It was, Hinata thought, her steps sure and steady as she made her way through the building, tracking them by nothing but the feel of their chakra signatures, less a matter of who was traditional or not and more a matter of feelings. She supported the bill because of the fact that, yes, she did want their ninja to live long lives.

Not a thought that was unreasonable. Giving them more time would, in theory, better prepare them for staying alive while facing the hardships of active duty. She would have greatly appreciated more time herself to be more confident in her skills before having been placed. In that, she did not think it was wrong to decide that other people would feel the same. But, she reminded herself, it seemed that just as many people felt that things were fine the way they were.

The key to winning this would be understanding. She paused at the bottom of the steps, feeling Kiba’s chakra bristling much like a dog raising its hackles as he went up the stairs on the other side. Shino’s chakra was almost perfectly collected, only long familiarity letting her sense the almost entirely muted buzz of agitation around him.

She quickly considered her options, then slipped up the stairs on silent feet—if they sensed her, it would be well enough, she was their teammate, and if they didn’t, then she could still learn what she wanted to know—and came to a pause at the top of the stairs, just before turning the corner to where Kiba and Shino were talking and simply _listened_. Not the most ethical thing that she’d ever done, listening in on conversations that she was not a party to, but it was a way to find out more information.

And for that, Hinata could put aside her qualms.

* * *

Shino felt Kiba’s approach, the crackling roar of chakra felt only in his head and pure personal energy, long before the other man was close enough to touch. This was, as one hand went up to calmly adjust his glasses, a fortuitous notice of warning.

Kiba’s temper was difficult enough to deal with when he had warning. Without it... it would just be more of a hassle. It was not that Shino disliked Kiba, that wasn’t the truth at all, it was simply that there were, even after so many years of working together, certain points of each other’s personalities that grated.

He tilted his head at his father, Aburame Shibi. “I will take my leave for the moment.” And spare him the fuss that was sure to come.

His father nodded, but didn’t bother affirming it with words. Why waste them? With purposeful steps that made it appear, to the unobservant, that the separation was entirely planned on, Shino watched his father approach one of the Elders before slipping off through the gathered council.

Exiting through one of the many side doors, Shino was waiting calmly and entirely collected when Kiba’s familiar footsteps came down the hall accompanied by the swirl of chakra. There was no need, after all, to be anything else.

“Do you even know what you guys voted for?” Kiba demanded, as always lacking in a greeting.

“Aburame is well aware of the consequences and thoughts behind such a law,” Shino said, refusing to indulge in the petty urge to say anything about it, perhaps, being Kiba who did not. “Our vote reflected our opinion adequately.”

“Your opinion will get people killed!”

“People die everyday in a shinobi village,” he said, a cool contrast to the passion in Kiba’s voice. “In attempting to pass legislation that would restrict graduation until the age of fourteen—an age, I will point out, that you made Chuunin—merely places additional burden on those currently on active duty. Which, in turn, would only create more deaths.”

“For a few years,” Kiba said stubbornly. “Three at most. That’s not so long, and then the Genin would have more time to learn under the Academy.”

Where they’d be, presumably, safe.

“Three years,” Shino said, turning to face him, and resting one hand on the railing. “How long is the average life expectancy of a career Chuunin?”

Career Chuunin being those that reached the rank, and were perfectly content to remain at that rank. They were also the group with the longest life expectancy. Genin statistics were hopelessly muddled because of the rate of advancement to Chuunin, and Jounin and Special Jounin were well known for dying young.

ANBU was even worse.

That made Kiba stop and pause. “Last report had it at something like... thirty years, or so?”

“Thirty years,” with a nod of agreement, mild surprise that Kiba had actually known the fact and therefore would have had to look it up at some point, carefully hidden, “three years is a tenth of the time. That is no small amount of time to place an extra stress on a significant portion of the ranks.”

“It is to keep people alive longer. Three years of stress and then shinobi who are better prepared to face the world. That’s _worth_ it, don’t you see?”

It was, Shino decided, somewhat like talking to a wall. Only walls couldn’t talk back, and Kiba definitely could. And it was easy to say something along those lines when Kiba himself was a Jounin and wouldn’t be the one expected to pick up all of those little missions.

He’d just be expected to run higher ranked missions with less backup.

There was no point in saying that though, Kiba would agree without really... well. Shino was just as qualified for those missions as his old teammate and he had no wish to increase the odds of him not coming back. “And what of the extra deaths that the three year period would entail?”

“What?”

“Those three years,” Shino said, an edge creeping into his voice, “those years where more people will be dying because they’re over-worked, and under-rested, because no one new is coming into the ranks. What will you tell them, then? That their lives are worth less than children who should have graduated already. That if they die that it is alright because at least we didn’t lose a Genin.”

To his credit, Kiba flushed. “That’s not what Hinata’s trying to do at all. How can you even think that of her?”

“It is nothing against Hinata,” was his flat answer, “I am not against her, and should there be a feasible plan in the works for addressing my Clan’s entirely valid concerns then I would care to hear it. As the entire law as been presented though it seems clear that little, if any thought, has been given to the consequences upon the rest of the ranks.”

He could feel Hinata’s chakra flare a bit at that, and judging that discretion was the better part of valour in this case, pretended he did not notice. Kiba gave no indication of noticing Hinata’s misstep either. Though, Shino knew, it was a good possibility that the other didn’t give any notice simply because he was too worked up to notice.

A cool head saw more than a hot one after all. Simple fact and logic. He was a great believer in both after all.

Kiba took a deep breath. “I still think you’re over-exaggerating the fallout of this,” he said and Shino bristled a bit at the undertone of ‘you’re being dim’ that laced Kiba’s words. “Hinata would have a plan for all of that.”

And you, he thought, have far too much faith in the planning of others. It was Naruto’s plan all the way through and Shino knew that Hinata was easily swayed when it came to Naruto. “Then,” he said, turning away, “I strongly suggest that she start giving details of such a plan.” His voice pitched carefully so that it would reach where Hinata hovered unseen in the doorway. “As it stands now though, Aburame will not support it.”

“Aburame?” Kiba’s voice was dark. “What about your personal opinion?”

“I am in concurrence with the rest of my Clan,” he said. And left it at that.

* * *

 _”I am in concurrence with the rest of my Clan.”_ He had sounded cold, and underneath it angry. It wasn’t his usual distance and demeanour. The disquiet was well controlled, he always was, but she couldn’t help but quail a bit on the inside at the fact that she’d managed to anger Shino.

Hinata leaned, silently against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment before shaking her head. Staying here wasn’t a good idea. There were many things that Hinata had gotten better at facing over the years, but she knew there was no good to be had in her attempting to converse with Shino right this moment—Shino, she reminded herself, who was coolly furious about the proposed law change—and she wasn’t ready to face him directly when his points were still ringing around in her head.

She turned his words over in her head, thinking about them seriously, and wondering if he really did have a point—and if he had a point, then there had to be answers to the questions he’d asked Kiba.

And if there were answers, then she would have to be the one to find them. Hinata turned, feet noiseless as she made her way back down the stairs, down the hallways, taking a deliberately circuitous route as she wished to avoid discussion with any of the council who still remained within the building.

Which, at this time, would be more than half of them. Hanabi, no doubt, was still holding reign over the room, a little queen made of ice and cold traditionalist logic. Hinata didn’t go that way. Nor did she head towards the Hokage’s office where Tsunade-sama and Naruto would be discussing their next steps—she could get that information later, and easily—Teuchi-san would be there as well, and looking at him just wrenched at her heart.

It was not his fault that she could hardly stand to look at him, but whenever she saw him Hinata was reminded all too forcibly of the fact that it was situations like his and his daughter’s—Ayame—that they were trying to avoid a repeat of. Had his grandson not been made Genin so early, had the team they’d been put on not been wiped out by and errant missing-nin that they hadn’t gotten the information about in time to change anything, then the boy would still be alive.

That he wasn’t… was what had driven Naruto to start his crusade to change things so that the children _had_ that extra time to become stronger, to make a difference in the quality of their work and their lives. Hinata loved that about him, and agreed with the concept.

Now, though, if they wanted a chance to change things, they would have to prove it. And Shino’s words... they hurt, she acknowledged that as she walked out of the building, into the harsh sunlight of midday. They hurt, but they gave her ideas for how and what to look for so that the next meeting to discuss this matter would possibly go smoother and in their favour. It wasn’t a matter of a simple majority, not on a topic like this one, they had to win the vote and then keep on winning it over and over as the drafts of the bill passed through the council and made their rounds.

All the work that was ahead of her didn’t bother Hinata. If you loved something, believed in something, then giving it your all was easy even when it was difficult to keep going. Naruto had taught her that. She’d learned the lessons well, and this was a chance of hers to repay him for all of that.

He cared more about this matter than nearly anything, and in that, it only raised her estimation of him. It was no paltry thing to care so deeply about people. Hinata kept walking, offering calm smiles to the people who offered them to her, and waved off any attempt at a discussion regarding anything.

Right now, she didn’t have the time to talk. They _needed_ to change opinions, and by the next afternoon even, the results of the council meeting would be all over town—they weren’t supposed to be, not at all, but it was another of Naruto’s ideas, that the citizenry, from the elders all the way down to the children, no matter if they were civilian or not, should have knowledge of what was being decided behind closed doors—and _everyone_ would have an opinion.

Naruto would be in the thick of it, she knew that already, and she would be in for her share of attention as well. Especially when it was her sister who was head of the Clan, not her as many had supposed, and Hinata had been rather obvious in her disagreement with Hanabi’s choices.

If simply by her lack of presence in the Hyuuga section.

Well and good enough. If Hanabi was to act for the past, for the Clan, for their father, then Hinata would act for the future, for the village, and for everyone who’d ever dreamed of a change.

Change was how people kept on living. Traditions only ended with more people dead.

Keeping her face serene, her pace smooth, Hinata entered the Academy grounds, walking up and through the doors of it with all the confidence that came from the fact that in the last two years she’d spent most of her time teaching at this location. The children who saw her, only a few of them, as most were in class, greeted her with grins and cheerful comments that all amounted to ‘Good afternoon, Hinata-sensei!’.

She didn’t have a class today, had planned it that way, and so was easily able to get into her office without being bothered. Folding her jacket over the back of her chair, Hinata took a moment just to revel in the fact that she felt comfortable here, before sitting down and pulling a pad of paper over to her.

Planning had always come naturally to her. The next steps would need to be thought out, and research was never something to be done without a plan.

As the day went on, the only sounds from her office were that of a pen scratching at paper as she steadily wrote and wrote.

* * *

Hanabi, had she wanted one, could have had an escort of several Hyuuga arranged around her as she walked through the village in the pouring rain. Her hood was drawn up, shadowing her face, and the water rolled off the folds of her cloak as she paced down the street looking for a particular building.

She hadn’t wanted an escort. Part of her supposed that having one might have been more in character with her new status, but a larger part of her remained sure that such constrictions on her movement would in short order drive her up the wall. Playing Hyuuga-sama, being Hyuuga-sama, already that left her with little enough freedom that she was loathe to give up what she still had options in.

And Konohamaru was not a threat, not really. She was interested in hearing what he wanted to say. It had been nearly a week now since the council meeting and rumours of what had gone on throughout it spread across the city. Another reason to be pleased enough with the rain. A modicum of relaxation was offered rather than wearing her public face, so long as she kept the hood up and her head down. Small enough sacrifice.

It was a small café that Konohamaru had mentioned as a meeting place. Hanabi knew it well—it was one that her Masaki-sensei had her team to after particularly hard practices... which reminded her that she should, perhaps, track down her teammates and talk to them. They were good at poking holes in her plans.

Entering the café, and making a face at the bells that rang to announce her entrance, Hanabi pushed her hood back, shaking out her hair as she did so, face smooth and serene by the time that she looked up.

“Over here,” Konohamaru called, with a quick wave.

Hanabi acknowledged the wave with a short nod of her head, stepping through the place to drape her cloak on a spare chair at their table before taking another chair to sit down in. “You wanted to see me?”

That earned her a grin, and a laugh. Somehow, Hanabi found herself not minding. Konohamaru had, over the years, become someone that through classes and then missions as they’d gotten older, that they’d grown accustomed to each other’s... foibles. “You never change,” he said, still grinning.

Hanabi raised one eyebrow sharply. “You expected me to?”

He shrugged, taking up his tea. “Rumour has it that you’ve changed.”

“Oh?” She leaned forward slightly, interested in that. “None of my people have commented on any rumours like that.”

And they would have. Hanabi’s own informants in the village had passed on worse rumours than that to her. She’d expected the backlash when she’d taken a stand so firmly in her first meeting. That it had been about such a sensitive subject had just made it worse.

“Who was mental enough to give _you_ people?” And that, she knew, was teasing and his face went serious after. “It’s getting ugly, Hanabi. And it’s not just from civilians.”

“Should we be doing this here?” she asked, frowning. Behind closed doors was a basic precaution, really.

“Yes,” he said vehemently, and that actually surprised her. “What you need to do is get out in the public more, be seen, and let people talk to you.”

“And let people have more chances at assassinating me?” she asked archly, even as her mind raced over how she could do that.

“I don’t believe for a minute you’re actually worried for your safety, not that way,” Konohamaru said. “You’ve always been confident in your abilities.”

“Have I ever had reason to think otherwise?” Hanabi inquired. “Over-confidence goes badly, naturally, but confidence in my own talent is not being foolhardy in the least. Why, then, should I become more of a public person? My father—”

“Are you your father?” he asked her then, without waiting for her to answer that he continued on. “Of course you aren’t. Which means, even as you follow his philosophy there’s got to be changes. People want to know _you_. They don’t know anything beyond your early graduation, and the fact that you’re another ‘Hyuuga genius’. Hardly anyone can tell them that you don’t like fireworks because of your name. Or that you always forget to put the caps back on pens and your hair doesn’t stay up in a ponytail no matter what kind of elastic you use.”

Hanabi stared at him, almost certain that he’d got insane. “Why would people _want_ to know all of that?”

“It makes you human,” he said, with a quick flash of a grin. “It makes you approachable, not some lofty, untouchable sort. And you want to be human when you’re preventing things that a lot of people think could save the lives of their brothers, sisters, children, nieces and nephews.”

“The age change _won’t_ ,” she said, frowning a bit at that. Did so many people really think that?

Konohamaru raised one hand, cutting her off before she could go on. “For what it matters,” he said. “I agree with you. I grew up seeing all the things that go on in the Hokage’s tower. The business of assigning missions and what all goes into it... I know that. And it’s a mess. But you’ve got a lot of people who _do_ believe in it.”

“Hinata’s behind it all the way,” Hanabi confessed. “Because of Naruto. Neji hasn’t committed himself one way or the other. I know that Inuzuka Clan is kicking up a fuss, and Akimichi Clan isn’t too pleased. Nara Clan is keeping their mouths and noses out of it so far and Yamanaka Clan is against the idea entirely—and they don’t even have heir’s to spare.”

He nodded. “Everyone’s divided. Even in the Clans, there’s variation on opinions. And you _need_ to be dealing with that too.”

“I’ll think about it,” she promised, glancing out the window. “The rain seems to be clearing up a bit.”

“Good,” he said, finishing his tea. “Let’s go for a walk through the village.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?” she asked, torn between exasperation and amusement. “I recognize that look in your eye, you realize.”

“Then you know there’s no point in arguing.”

She gave a short laugh, noticing for the first time the way that the girls behind the counter watched her speculatively. Hanabi made herself keep smiling as she tossed her cloak on over her shoulders. “Let’s go walk then.”

And she didn’t wait for him. His good-natured protest as he hurried after her just made her laugh again. Maybe he had some point to it, being public. She would talk it over with her advisors.

That thought made her laugh again—what would a group of painfully clever, but crotchety old men be able to advise her about going out and making nice with people closer to her age?

She didn’t know. She’d have to see.


	3. The Outside

Pale crisp paper the consistency of parchment, dark green trim and a seal that was black. Single page letters, with no envelope, just folded three times and seal with wax. They heralded news that no shinobi ever wanted to get, and yet got far too often. Three letters, all reading more or less the same, found their way to Hanabi’s desk in the early evening dusk.

She quietly thanked the servant for bringing them to her, dismissed him, and locked the door tight. It did not matter that, in the Hyuuga Compound, anyone who was using the Byakugan would be able to see her anyway. It was the point of the thing. She needed the door locked.

Her hands didn’t tremble, she felt enclosed in ice and drew that feeling of disconnect around her even tighter. Three of them, all at once. A childish part of her wanted to protest that it wasn’t fair and that if maybe she didn’t open the letters that their news would just disappear.

Hanabi ignored that futile wish and carefully, one after the other, opened the letters:

 **NOTIFICATION OF DEATH**

Shinobi Registration No.: 007612  
Name: Senju Hideki  
Rank: Jounin

Memorial Date: 05/17

 

 **NOTIFICATION OF DEATH**

Shinobi Registration No.: 013068  
Name: Morikawa Maki  
Rank: Chuunin

Memorial Date: 05/17

 

 **NOTIFICATION OF DEATH**

Shinobi Registration No.: 013090  
Name: Arata Tomoe  
Rank: Chuunin

Memorial Date: 05/17

Cold news, with no words of comfort. The thin sheets of paper were altogether too brittle for the news they bore. Hanabi carefully smoothed them out on her desk—her father’s desk—and took a deep breath. She would _not_ disgrace herself, not even in the privacy of her own home.

Another breath. Then another. In and out, carefully regulated, each inhale and exhale letting her carefully put back together the cracks in her composure.

Another breath. Then another. In and out, carefully regulated, each inhale and exhale letting her carefully put back together the cracks in her composure.

It looked like she wouldn’t be asking her team’s opinion of the law change after all.

That night, though she retired early to bed, Hanabi barely slept at all.

* * *

The slow burn deep in his muscles was a pleasant counter-point to the brisk wind that was blowing through the compound. He sank into a Jyuuken stance, centering himself with hardly a thought, and then flowed into movement.

Early morning practice, so early in fact that the area was empty but for him. Neji preferred it that way, though he knew that either of his cousins would likely be the next to join him. It was almost an unspoken agreement (insofar as they ever came to agree on anything) that if one was here, that the other would not be.

For the moment, however, he brushed the thoughts away and devoted himself to his forms.

Nearly an hour later, sweat soaked and breathing slightly ragged—he was pushing himself more than he would out in the field—Neji was starting to wind down his practice. It only made good sense, to work harder here. The more he could take now, the more he could handle if it came down to it out on missions. He was mildly amused, though, to note that he’d been wrong about either of his cousins joining him.

While Hanabi-sama was now exempt from missions—the head of their Clan was far too important to risk on the daily dangers that were dealt with on duty—Neji knew that he’d be back to active duty soon.

Hinata’s soft footsteps, easily recognized, drew him from his thoughts. Apparently, he’d drawn the final conclusion too quickly. She stood on the edge of the practice area, hair tied back, and looking quietly serene. He noticed she was dressed for the Academy already.

“Good morning, Hinata-sama,” he said, with a tilt of his head, coming up out of the stance with a twist of his hips and settling his balance evenly.

“Neji-niisan,” she said, smiling in the early morning light. “Your form is fine today.”

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips at that, it was a mild compliment, but that was her way. Gushing and squealing wouldn’t have been her, and for that he was glad. It was annoying. “I’m sure your form is as well,” he offered, feeling it was a pittance of a reply, but knowing it would be enough for her.

It was.

“Not too bad,” she agreed quietly. “I did a bit of warming up in the north area. I thought, perhaps, Hanabi would join you today?”

“I’ve seen no sign of Hyuuga-sama,” he said, tone even—the sort of voice that let little thought through. He’d heard from the servants that Hanabi had received a few letters and gone to bed early the night before. For all of that, he didn’t care for feeling as if Hinata were fishing for information. It didn’t suit her. It was that pique that had him leaving out a bit of what he knew. “She retired to her rooms early last night, and has not left them as far as I have heard. If you cared to see her, I am sure you could gain entrance.”

His words were surer than his thoughts at that one. Hanabi had always been touchy when it came to her older sister. Hm. He’d have to check with the servants to make sure that Hanabi was still there. Hyuuga-sama now, or not, she was still sixteen and her rebellious moods had never been entirely tamed.

She was cold; no doubt about that, but she was also less malleable and harder to sway than Hinata. In that, Hanabi reminded him the most of her father, his uncle. Neji glanced at Hinata. “Was there something that Hyuuga-sama would have wanted to talk to me about?”

The phrasing of her question was interesting.

“I only wondered,” she said, colouring slightly. “You’d know better than I, of course.”

Empty words. They both knew that he spent more time than she did around Hanabi. He didn’t fall for it, but didn’t give anything away either. Neji studied her for a long moment—long enough that her veneer of calm cracked slightly—before nodding and walking towards her.

“Was there something _you_ wanted to discuss then?”

She looked mildly taken aback at his directness. Neji pretended he didn’t notice that while reaching for a soft towel to drape over his shoulders and wipe his face with. It was a small bit of decorum. Hinata always responded better if you gave her the time to gather herself, Hanabi did better straight on. It was a distinction, yet another one, that he made and filed away in his thoughts.

Hinata straightened her shoulders, perhaps feeling his gaze on her, and raised her chin slightly. “I wished to know your opinion on the law proposed to raise the age of graduation from twelve to fourteen.”

Neji sighed. He’d expected something like that, and had begun to hope that neither of the two would ask.

“I can’t answer,” he said, almost regretfully. Hanabi had not asked him, and he doubted she would. “Not that.”

Her eyes bored into him, outwardly placid but the fact that she was displeased was clear to his senses. “May I ask why not, Neji-niisan? Has my sister ordered you to—“

He raised one hand; that was a trail of thought he didn’t need occurring to either of them. It would only cause more division, and that was the last thing he wanted. “My mind is my own,” he said severely, “and neither Hyuuga-sama, or yourself, Hinata-sama, can prevent me from my having my own thoughts and keeping my own counsel. But I’ll not air them for either of you.”

Though if Hanabi, Hyuuga-sama, ever ordered it, he would have no choice but to obey. Discretion led him to not mention that. Neji thought, though, that Hanabi had a better sense of why he’d not yet said anything either way. That too, was provided decorum.

Hinata was still looking at him.

Neji picked up a canteen and nearly drained it dry of water before giving her more of an answer. “Hyuuga does not need more turmoil at this point,” he said, picking and choosing his words carefully. “My position is that the Clan first needs to come to a consensus as to the public opinion on this movement. The fact that you and Hyuuga-sama are on opposing sides brings disquiet not just to Konoha, but also within the Clan. I will not exacerbate it and come between the two of you.”

“You support her in public,” Hinata said, her voice controlled.

“I don’t,” he disagreed, though mildly. “Nor do I support your position in public. Hyuuga-sama speaks for the Clan, and as I am part of that same Clan, it would be ill-advised to break rank publicly. My opinions, I am afraid, are my own.” And would stay that way. “I only do both of you the kindness of remaining silent.”

“I will see you later,” he said, presuming that his words would put an end to that line of thinking for a least long enough for him to shower. With another slight nod of his head, Neji left, and could feel her staring after him the whole way.

* * *

Her head ached, her hands were cramping from writing too long and too hard, and the stack of notes she had amassed on her desk were a good start, Hinata judged, but only that. Pushing back her chair, stretching her spine and feeling the crack and pull of the muscles as they moved for the first time in hours, she lay her pen down.

A glance at the clock proved it was, already, the next day—she’d worked through the night again—and that there was just enough time to grab something to eat before she had a meeting with Hokage-sama and Naruto. Discussing the next move for the legislation.

Too early, she thought, for anything to be done. Public opinion had to be gauged more accurately before they’d know how best to spin the next meeting. Hinata sighed, stepped over to the small window and opened it, letting fresh air into the small room. It was warm out, already, but she left her jacket on.

Konoha was already active, shinobi darting over roof-tops on their way to (or even, she thought, from) the mission desks, heading out, getting back in. Civilians were hustling their children to school, opening stands, doing laundry. Another day.

The sun shone brightly.

With a sigh—one borne from a combination of pleasure at the beauty of the day, and from the headache that echoed dully in her temples from neglecting her sleep—she grabbed a brush from her desk, ran it through her hair a few times, appearances were important, and headed out. A few quick seals in addition to a key had the door locked behind her good and tight.

Outside it was even nicer. Hinata bowed to the weather, unzipping her jacket a few inches, just enough for more ventilation, and reveled in the feel of the wind against her face. It was a time for new beginnings.

A time for change.

Her smile faded slightly, though she still returned the greetings of those who recognized her on her way, and she thought about that. Change, yes, but at what cost? Her research hadn’t yielded anything yet that could say definitively one way or another if she was right, or if Shino did, in fact, have a point.

It was the right thing to do, this law, changing the age of graduation, but Shino seldom misspoke himself. If the strain put on the other shinobi was too great, then the plan was flawed in the very roots of it.

Too early yet, for her to know. She wondered if she could get Naruto to let it wait, even for a week, so that there was more time to devote to looking into a solution that pleased more people. The mood in the last meeting had been ugly, and once Hanabi had spoken, it had gotten worse. It bothered her that so many would listen to her sister, simply because the other side had Naruto speaking for it.

She had never been able to understand that. Naruto always did what he thought was best for everyone. Hinata had never seen someone who _cared_ as much as he did. Something she did her best to emulate—and how better than by teaching the children who would carry their future?

Hokage-sama’s guards greeted her with respectful nods of their heads as she entered the building with quiet confidence. This, at least, no longer made her worry. Her welcome here was always assured.

She took a second to compose herself before stepping into Hokage-sama’s office. Naruto was already there—a bright, golden man with a smile that melted her heart, and he shot that smile at her.

“Hinata-chan!” he said, kicking a chair out for her to sit. “You’re just in time.”

She was early, of course, but he always said that. It was part of the routine. “So are you,” Hinata said, taking the offered seat and smiling back at him. “It’d be a shame if you were late.” Quiet teasing, but he laughed and it warmed her.

They talked for fifteen minutes or so before Hokage-sama joined him, yawning behind one hand, as she summarily kicked Naruto out of her chair, reclaimed it and leveled a glance at him that made him change his mind about protesting.

“To order,” Tsunade-sama said dryly, leaning back in her chair with a groan. “As much as we ever get around here. Hinata-san, you mentioned last time that you were looking into further research on this topic—can you update us as to your current findings?”

She straightened, bolstered by the way Naruto was giving her his full attention, and began outlining what she’d found so far. She’d tuck her recommendation for more time to be given somewhere in the middle.

If Hokage-sama agreed with her, then she had a better chance at getting Naruto to go along with her. That too, was strategy.

* * *

This was, she thought viciously, looking outwardly completely calm, all Konohamaru’s fault. Hanabi didn’t _like_ theatre. The costumes were silly, the storytelling even worse, and from what she understood this one was supposed to be _romantic_.

Hanabi didn’t have the time for that. All of her protests when he’d shown up with a determined glint in his eye earlier that day had fallen on deaf ears, and she wasn’t going to sink so low as to have her men throw him out. She valued his friendship too much for that. She didn’t have many friends left.

Successfully resisting the urge to tug at her dress—why couldn’t she have worn a kimono? It was traditional—Hanabi leaned over and hissed in his ear. “People are going to think we’re dating, you idiot.”

The smile on her face didn’t waver, even though her tone of voice expressed her displeasure quite eloquently. Appearances, after all, had to be kept, now that she was here, she had to look happy. She didn't feel happy though, she wanted to... to... hit things. Anything. Taking out her temper on Konohamaru and his stupid plan sounded good to her.

"So what if they are?" he asked, looking far too amused in her opinion. "We know we're not."

She shook her head, black hair trailing over her shoulders and spared a moment to consider that, yes, perhaps tying it up would have been better sense. Enough clips and surely the elastic would’ve held through one play. Too late now, and not particularly traditional either. "Does your flavour of the week know that?"

"I'd be more offended," Konohamaru told her, after laughing. "If I didn't know you were just saying that to get a rise out of me."

"What are we here for again?" she asked, resigned and ignoring his comments. It was beneath a Hyuuga, after all, to admit to something like that. "I don't even like theatre."

"Don't play stupid," he said easily, almost casually draping one arm over her stiff shoulders. "You know why we're here. To get you seen so people can get a better idea of what you're like."

While she appreciated the fact that he took the care enough to not trap her hair, Hanabi was not particularly amused by the touchy-feeling show he was putting on. "By making me watch something that I dislike?" Her smile never wavered, but only an idiot would be able to ignore the threat implicit in her low voice. "It'd be far more like me to Jyuuken you for being an idiot and stalk out before the show ever started."

She wouldn't though. Her father had taught her better manners than that, even if the idea was quite nice to contemplate as he left his arm where it was and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. The chairs were cool, his hand was hot. She cared for neither.

"You won't," he said, sounding so sure that Hanabi wished she could lower herself to his level and prove him wrong. "Too much pride, so you'll sit here, smiling and muttering threats and then we'll go get dinner at that cafe down the street and you'll smile through that too."

She resisted the urge to shrug him off of her, keeping her posture straight and her face serene. He was right, of course, but that did not mean she had to like it. "The difference," she murmured, "is that I actually _do_ like that cafe."

"You could always spend the time with your team," he said mildly, "if it distresses you so much to spend the time with me."

Her team. A laugh that was closer to a moan caught in her throat. "Behind on the news, are you?" Hanabi said, striving for nonchalance, and sounding a little brittle, a little hurt, as she tucked one bit of hair that was particularly annoying behind an ear. "My team is dead." And she hadn’t been there.

His hand tightened on her shoulder. "When?" Konohamaru asked, his lips barely moving. This, unlike his usual teasing, wasn't something to make light off.

This was a conversation that would be better off behind closed doors. Hanabi shivered, cold from more than the chairs now. "A few days ago," she said, staring at the stage. "Ambushed on a routine courier mission. The funerals are on Monday."

He was staring at her. Hanabi refused to look his way. The idiot was going to draw attention to them, more attention than the simple fact that she, Hyuuga Hanabi, head of the most prominent Clan in Konoha was managing just by attending a stupid play.

So she stuck to the bare minimum and let him fill in the blanks. That way, it didn’t sound so bad. She could just pretend that it was something that had happened to someone else, didn’t have to think about the fact that she was losing her supports quicker than she’d ever thought about it.

It wasn’t as if she’d been as close to Maki and Tomoe as Hinata was to her Inuzuka and Aburame, and Hideki-sensei hadn’t been a replacement for either of her parents. They’d been her team though, and that wasn’t something that was easily replaced either.

She’d miss them. Maki talking too loud, too fast, always moving. Tomoe quieter, but not shy about speaking his opinion and a wicked tongue when the mood took him. The way that Hideki-sensei had of telling them what they did wrong after a mission, and then telling them, just as fairly, what they’d done right. Hanabi couldn’t afford the time to mourn. This, at least, was politically motivated. No time for anything but to keep moving forward.

“I’m fine,” she told him, before he could open his mouth and say something that’d no doubt sink into her thoughts and annoy her. Hanabi hesitated. “I’m going to the funerals,” she said, almost hesitantly. “Did you want to come with me?”

It’d be public, she’d be seen. The fact that it made her highly uncomfortable to contemplate that was secondary—she had to apologize for not being there, with them, to help. Another teammate might have made all the difference. Now she’d never know.

“Of course I’ll come,” he said, with another squeeze of her shoulder. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Right. “Be quiet,” she hissed, glad for a distraction, glad for an excuse to stop talking as the theatre lights dimmed and slowly the curtain started to rise. “It’s starting.”

They settled back to watch the play, and Hanabi didn’t protest at his arm remaining around her shoulders. A little bit of comfort, snatched where no one could guess.

It would do.

* * *

It was too quiet.

Inuzuka homes, in his opinion, should never be too quiet. But it always was since six months ago, and Hana had died while out on a mission. His mother had Hana’s dog tags, and never let them out of her sight. For him though, even with all the dogs, all the usual noises, just the fact that there was one less person in the building made him acutely aware of the fact that it was, in his opinion, _far too quiet_.

So Kiba talked more. The fact that Hana wasn't going to answer back, give him another tip on how to better take care of Akamaru, or any of the dogs really, or the fact that she wouldn't be there to bitch about his cooking skills (but if his were poor, then hers were-- _had been_ \--worse) while eating it anyway. Talking helped fill the gaps. Healthier too, than drinking.

"Don’t whine," Kiba said, to Akamaru as they finished up their run, slowing down and bounding up the steps of their house with easy confidence that the somewhat rickety looking deck could hold the both of them. "You’ll get fed soon enough." Easy words. Too bad there weren’t more of them.

That earned him a joyful bark, and Kiba couldn't help the quiet laugh as he let Akamaru in, though the fact that there was no answering laugh bothered him more than he'd ever say out loud. He continued his talking, just recounting his day, as he stripped off his jacket, remembering to hang it up this time, while Akamaru barreled on ahead.

A moan came from his mother’s bedroom. He paused, backtracked, and rapped sharply on the doorframe before pushing the door open. The smell hit him first—old alcohol, stale sweat, puke and dog. It didn’t matter how often he cleaned, every day it wound up smelling the same. His mother was sprawled, limbs loose, out on the floor, shaking her head slowly and looking too bleary-eyed to be his mother. But she was.

Inuzuka Tsume had always enjoyed a good drink, but since the death of her daughter, her _heir_ , she’d been a wreck more days than not, lost in a foggy stupor brought on by too much booze. Kiba kept talking as he bullied her into sitting up properly—the moan must have come from her falling off the low-slung couch—and stood over her to make sure she drank enough water to keep alcohol poisoning at bay for a while longer. He talked to her, told her about the weather, about the rumours, about the way that Hana wouldn’t like to see her like this.

She wouldn’t talk to him. Ignoring him, though the comments about Hana got a feral growl. A huddled bag of misery, wrapped up in her own pain, and the bottle. He left her too it, cracking a window open to help the room air out. Kiba made a note to go in, once she was asleep, to clean a bit.

He talked to fill the silence, to hide the grief, to keep from thinking. Some things you couldn’t tell your teammates. He hadn’t yet, though they knew Hana had died, had stood with him at her funeral, and held him when he’d gotten drunk—the only time he’d touched a drink since then—and cried. This though, this slow destruction of everything his family had been, he couldn’t find the words for. And Hinata was busy; Shino was too. They had their own families to deal with. Especially the law issue… so he lied, and never mentioned it. Anger could hide so many things, and he’d been angry enough lately.

This was his problem, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

Kiba didn’t notice the way Akamaru paused, stared through one of the screen doors, hackles raised for a few moments before whining a little, a small noise, and padded after him. One hand drifted down to rub Akamaru’s ears.

Kiba talked because the quiet was killing him.


	4. All You Wanted

“Hinata-sensei,” Shikamaru said, still a bit bemused over the fact that not one, but two of their class had wound up teaching, and knocking on the door-frame of the half-opened door. He watched as the kunoichi righted herself, looking a bit tired even as she smiled and focused on him. “Do you have a minute?”

“Shikamaru-sensei,” she said, standing and setting aside her pen as she matched him in formality, “of course. Please come in. Is there anything the matter?”

He stepped inside the room, noting the casual disarray—nothing out of the ordinary, to his eye, though not quite so neat as you’d think of a Hyuuga. “Nothing wrong,” he said, answering her question and moving to take a seat in one of the chairs she indicated. Shikamaru lifted the sheaf of paper he held, setting them down on the desk. "Just some routine paperwork for next year's teaching schedule--it's your first year here, so I thought you might appreciate a hand in going through it." Well, he'd been talked into it, but Shikamaru had to admit that he hadn't put up as much of a fuss as he could've.

It wasn't like talking to Hinata was a big thing, really. Though these days there were all sorts of comments flying around about her involvement in the bill that was rumoured to be under consideration. He watched to see her reaction, and wasn't surprised when she frowned slightly.

"Can I see the forms?" she asked, reaching one hand out for them. Shikamaru gave them to her without another word and watched as she read the first page. "Isn't is a bit early," Hinata said quietly, "to start planning for what goes on next year? It's barely half-way through this one."

"And we've already got a full set of applicants for the beginner classes," Shikamaru said comfortably, used to these questions--they were some of the ones he'd asked a few years ago after all. So far nothing unreasonable. “No point in keeping registration open past that, though there’s still the waiting list.”

"So many children," she murmured, searching out the tentative class lists and placing it on top of the pile to study while she resumed her seat. "How many of them, do you know, are from shinobi families?"

"89% of them," he said promptly. It was always calculated. "Which is about the average number for a class in peace time. The ones we'll be getting from the civilian families will either be kids who desperately want to be ninja, or those whose parents used to dream of it, and think it'd be a good match for their child."

She nodded, turning the page and murmuring names under her breath, before pausing and flushing slightly. "My apologies," Hinata said, setting the paper down, "I didn't ask--did you want anything to drink?"

"I'm fine," he said, waving it off with one hand. Shikamaru didn't care much about how polite she was--it wasn't like she was annoying or anything. "You look tired though, a tea might do you good."

Very tired, and from the state of her office it was clear that she'd been using it far more frequently than most sensei did, even in a ninja village. The dark circles under her eyes were hardly noticeable, he doubted barely any of the kids would notice, but he'd known her from all the way back from when they’d been in the Academy. Even if you weren't friends with someone, that much time led you to pick up a fair number of cues about them.

Hinata flushed slightly. "I've been working hard," she demurred, "ah, about this bit, could you explain--"

Turning back to the work, Shikamaru allowing himself to be diverted, they spent a good forty-five minutes going over the basics of how the class set up would work, and who was likely to be in which class, what the evaluations they did at the entrance to the school were meant to accomplish.

He answered her questions with the same thoroughness that he would have expected if he'd been the one on the other side of doing this for the first time--and, indeed, last year it _had_ been him on the other side and asking the questions. Not the same ones, but most of them were close enough and all the information was covered in a manner that he felt was enough to get by.

Which, really, was good enough for him. Shikamaru wasn't particularly detail oriented when he didn't have to be--just because he remembered it didn't mean he wanted to actually deal with it. Answering her questions though gave him more time to study Hinata, pick out little details in how tired she was and the way she phrased her questions was interesting too.

"Shikamaru-sensei," she said finally, glancing up from the last form, "this is all, as you said, precisely the same as what had been done last year?"

Ah, that question. He'd expected it, and was mildly amused that it had taken longer than he'd guessed for it to come up. "Exactly the same," he agreed, setting aside one of the spare pages he'd been using to explain the details of another question.

Her brow furrowed. "The Academy is planning for the graduation age to remain the same." Hinata didn't sound pleased--not surprised, but not pleased all the same. As if she'd hoped for something better, but had not really expected it.

"The Academy is set up for graduation at twelve," he said patiently, half of him wishing he was home, or teaching the kids, or something other than having to be here right now, and the other half sitting up and paying attention because this was, in fact, really interesting to him. "Any reform, especially mandated reform will take years to fully implement. It's severely unlikely that any change could be made that would be in effect for this next class."

She shook out her hair, and when she glanced up at him, her expression was almost serene. "What do you think of the reform? You've been hinting at it around the edges since you got here. Nara has a whole has said nothing either way."

"Nara," he drawled, "will keep to that stance. Our opinion will stay our own for the moment. Transparency, though, is important for an issue like this, Hinata-sensei. If you're going to be serious about this, then I advise that there's no surprises, or midnight secret meetings," she flushed and he noted that, "because that will only bring your case down. And that's more trouble than it's worth, having an opinion on."

Hinata stared at him for a moment. "Thank you for the information, Shikamaru-sensei. If that will be all...?"

* * *

The funerals had been quick—routine, almost, and Hanabi was one of the last there in an hour or two. For the most part, death was an expected part of life as a shinobi. Everyone knew the odds, that it could happen at any time, that no one was entirely safe.

“I think,” she observed, almost clinically, “that if it were possible, we’d all spend more than half our lives in mourning.” Hanabi fought down a shiver, feeling cold in her black mourning clothing, though it wasn’t all that chill outside.

“Probably,” Konohamaru answered her, getting up from where he’d been putting a wreath of flowers down. One for each of the dead. Hideki-sensei, Tomoe, Maki. “That’s why we forget, in time, how it hurts. Living in pain only traps us as well as them.”

Wind brushed by her, tangling in her hair as she stepped over to consider the flowers. Hanabi didn’t really see them. Konohamaru beside her looked older in black. It didn’t suit him. For a moment she wished he’d smile. Something normal. Something better. “But you can’t fully forget,” she said. “Otherwise there’s no point in ever caring.”

He glanced at her—she didn’t look away. Her face was dry, and voice remote. Hardly the face of a classical mourner. But then, looking cold as a stone didn’t mean she felt that way.

“There’s always a point in caring,” he said, with a smile that held no amusement in it. “If only so the dead are not forgotten.”

Hanabi considered that, and shook her head, long hair flying around her head like an unruly halo. She shrugged slightly, only the smallest uplift of her shoulders. Even now, appearances mattered. A moment of consideration was spared toward the idea that, perhaps, ‘cold as stone’ in this situation wasn’t the best appearance, but it was too late for her to change it. As with everything—what was done, was done.

They could only change the future. The past was untouchable, and she resolved not to worry about it. “I don’t think I’ll forget,” she said, her voice quiet enough that, if she were lucky, only Konohamaru would catch it. “I learned a lot from them.”

Of course there was more to it than that, but some things were better left unsaid—at least in public, no matter how they were working on changing the public’s perception of her. Her information network had reported a positive upswing in opinion over the fact that she’d gone to the play. Perhaps Konohamaru had a point. It still seemed silly.

“You can learn a lot from everyone,” he said, and that sounded a bit more like him. Hanabi was grateful for that, even as she raised one quizzical eyebrow. “Well you can,” Konohamaru said, not shifting under her gaze, “it’s just, the lessons that are really important are the ones you remember even after the people who taught you them are gone. There are a hundred thousand stupid little lessons to be learnt, every day, but only a few stick longer.”

She nodded. “I can agree with that,” Hanabi said, after a moment to consider it. “No one person can be the sum of everything that happens to them. Even if we don’t mean to, we pick and choose.”

"What do you think you'll pick and choose from all of this?" he asked, closing his eyes briefly and looking into the wind for a moment.

She shrugged, not wanting to dwell. "I don't know," Hanabi said. "I don't decide, especially not right now, what I'll remember two, three, however many years down the road. Just that I know I will remember _something_ of this. You don't spend years of your life working with people just to forget them because they no longer come around."

"You don't," he said, knowing that for the truth. "And for that, it's a good thing. People don't deserve to be forgotten so fast. Without our memories, we'd never learn anything."

Hanabi's laughter was a fragile thing, something that sounded close to the edge of breaking even though her eyes were clear and there was no sign of tears to be found. "And without our memories there'd be precious little point in anything at all," she pointed out, "not even in getting out of bed--if you wouldn't remember anything of what happened when you got out of bed the day before, then why would you keep on doing the same thing over and over? You'd go insane without your memories."

Konohamaru took her by the elbow, gently moving them away from the graves and for a while, half an hour, an hour, they didn't really keep track of time, just walked down the back paths and through the parks of Konoha, letting the cool air rush through them, tangling their hair, and if Hanabi didn't notice the way people gave them considering looks and smiles as they passed, well, Konohamaru did. He returned those that he noticed, but for the most part they were content to pass the time in silence.

"I didn't even get the chance to ask them about all of this," Hanabi said eventually. "Not their opinion on my becoming Clan head, or on the Academy age issue. I'd wanted to see what they thought. Even if they didn't agree, or if they did, I wanted to ask them the 'whys' of their reasoning."

Konohamaru sighed, he could see where her thinking was coming from. "They were out on missions for most of the last few weeks, right? And you were busy in meetings and barely had time to breathe as everything got sorted out." Small words, they sounded like excuses and were, even though at the time they'd been perfectly valid ones--you couldn't just ditch a meeting when you wanted. Then, in thinking that 'they'd always be around to ask later' it was alright to put it off for a few days.

Only a few days had never come...

"Exactly," Hanabi said, her lips twisting slightly. "And now there's no more chances. I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? My position is the same as it has been from the start."

"You could always ask other people," he said, considering that. "There shouldn't be a meeting about it for another few days at least, if you wanted to see if you could find time to come with me while I track down Moegi and Udon--you could see what they had to say."

A faint smile. "Use your team, instead of mine?"

"They won't mind," Konohamaru said confidently. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"I'll think about it." Hanabi said, not really happy sounding, but Konohamaru was willing to settle for 'less morbid' than she'd been at the start of the funeral, and left it at that. The little steps counted too.

Overhead, the sky grew dark with storm clouds.

* * *

The sky was so dark that even though it was not long into the afternoon the whole city was wreathed in twilight that called to mind much later hours. The illusion of no one else existing was only heightened by the way that the rain pouring down, bringing the gray with it, forced people inside. Lights in windows, muted yellow glows, were the only real indication that there was more than was visible.

Kiba stepped along the slick wood of their back porch, the overhang keeping most of the rain from hitting him for a few seconds longer. He glanced around; Akamaru was sleeping just inside—close enough to be within easy distance, but out of the wet and cold entirely. It wasn’t Akamaru he was looking for though, and his target was sitting on the bottommost step, soaking wet and shivering.

“Hey, Kuromaru,” Kiba said, sitting down two steps up, heedless of the rain that was sheeting down from the sky, and resting one hand on the large sad looking dog. “How’s she been today?”

Kuromaru whined, a rumble of his old confidence still clinging to his voice—old times, when he’d been stronger, faster, better—and let out a sigh. His tail flopped against the wet wood of the porch. “About the same.”

Kiba’s sigh echoed his, casting a glance over to where Akamaru was half-asleep, just out of the rain, and his eyes, so used to knowing every shift and twitch in his dog’s mood easily picked out the stress and unhappiness. But then, information like that was writ across his body and face too, if you knew how to look.

“She’ll get better,” he said, forcing himself to be confident about it. If he admitted defeat, then Kiba didn’t know what he’d do. “Soon, she’s got to. Hana’s... not coming back, and—,“ he swallowed, “she’s just going to have to start dealing with it.”

Kuromaru—his mother’s dog, and older than he was—shifted to rest his giant head on Kiba’s lap. Absently, Kiba played with the soft, wet fur. The smell of dog barely registered as anything other than ‘home’.

“She’s not been getting better,” Kuromaru rumbled, distressed. “She doesn’t even talk to me these days. She used to, not that long ago. What if she’s getting worse?”

He winced at that, it was true enough, but hard to wrap his mind around nonetheless—the idea of not talking to Akamaru, not having him around, or outright ignoring him made his stomach twist unpleasantly. A bad sign too. He ran his hand through Kuromaru’s thick fur and tried to give reassurance.

“I know,” he said, glancing up into the rain, letting it get in his eyes, trickling down his face and taking a moment just to feel as it soaked through his t-shirt. His nose was filled with the scent of wet dog, wood smoke—they had an old-style fireplace, and he’d made sure it was burning well before coming outside—and, distantly, and only noticeable if you had an Inuzuka’s nose, the scent of alcohol. Depressingly common these days, and he’d never minded drinking before. Kiba doubted he’d ever want to drink again.

Bad enough that one of them was living in a liquor fog. The family didn’t need two of them like that. And he refused to bring the family down even further. "I know she is," Kiba repeated, wishing he had something better to say to Kuromaru, and knowing the dog would sense any attempt at prevarication that he made. "Do you think there's anything we can do for her?"

The dog huffed, his breath hot and warm against the cool skin chilled by the rain. "Take away the bad stuff?"

Kiba's laugh felt rusty in his throat, though it came out normal sounding enough. Enough to pass, that's what he spent most of his time doing lately anyway, so that wasn't a big shock. "We've tried that," he reminded him, "and she just goes and gets more. We'll have to try harder; I'm not sure how mum is sneaking out like that."

But then, Inuzuka Tsume had been a Jounin before he'd ever been born--the number of tricks she knew, coupled with her level of experience, was a formidable barrier to overcome. Even for someone as determined as he was.

"I can help," Kuromaru said, lifting his muzzle and looking a bit more cheerful. "I can keep guard and make sure she doesn't get past me at _all_."

Kiba shook his head, not in negation, just to shake out the water that was accumulating in his hair. "That's an idea," he said, a bit more confidently. "Between you and I, if we're on our guard even more, then it'll be a lot harder for her to get anything past us."

An addiction like that could be a pain to sustain when there were people around who could smell it on you. Kiba counted Akamaru and Kuromaru amongst the people of their family--there was no other word for it. Physical shape didn't matter where he was concerned. "Akamaru will help out too," he said, smiling for Kuromaru's benefit. "And we'll get her through withdrawal and back on her feet with no one the wiser."

Kuromaru's tail swished back and forth, a solid thwack against the deck with every movement as his tongue lolled out. "She'll be grumpy." And that, they both knew, was the pure and honest truth. His mother was going to be _miserable_.

From his place, warm and dry, Akamaru looked up with a sleepy cast to his expression and glanced out at the area for a long moment, ears perked before shaking his head, as if dislodging something, he put his head back down and sighed.

"We'll be grumpier," Kiba said, keeping his eye on Akamaru, and making a note to ask him about it later. See if it had just been a dream jitter, or anything more. "I don't know about you, but I've got a lot of grumpy kicking around lately. Everyone's in a bad mood, and there's too few targets to take it out on."

Kuromaru licked his face. "You can do it," his mother's dog said, "I believe in you. Tsume'll be back to normal soon."

* * *

It was odd how something so prosaic as merely a change in location could make someone look smaller. Odd, but that was his first impression upon seeing Hanabi--Hyuuga-sama, as he'd so lightly called her the last time they'd talked--standing to one side on the west bridge and just staring out over the water. She looked smaller, a bit tired, and being all in black didn't suit her nearly as well as the white of her usual robes. The soaking rain, and the way it plastered her hair to her head only furthered the impression of smallness. He wondered what she was doing out in the rain.

Shino kept his observations to himself--she would not appreciate them--even as he drifted over out of some half-formed curiosity. "Hyuuga-sama."

She glanced sideways at him, her professional mask slipping back over her face with the ease of someone who'd done it so many times that they didn't even have to think about it any longer. "Aburame," she said, her voice cool, nicely remote and Shino took a moment to appreciate that. "How can I help you?" Never mind that it was pouring. Business was the only thing that showed in her voice.

"Indulge an idle curiosity," he said evenly, resting his arms against the thick red railing of the bridge and glancing down. The water, this time of the year, looked more slate gray than blue, but that too would pass. It always did. "What is Hyuuga Clan's leader doing all by herself," he'd not detected any guards, which was a rarity in and of itself, so either she was all alone, or the ones she had were especially good and he'd been slacking in his training, "all by herself, out on a bridge, just past high noon?"

Hanabi laughed, a small sound, one that would have gone unnoticed had he not been so close. Shino wondered if she always laughed so. "Saying farewell," she said, "and wishing old dreams well." Thunder cracked over their heads, he was soaked and she looked moreso.

People who said his family was enigmatic had not been talking to the right people. Shino attempted to recall a time when he'd given an answer so unhelpful and found himself failing to do so. "Are they dreams you will miss?" he asked curiously, though only the slight lean to his shoulders showed his interest. The question as well, of course.

"Who knows?" she asked, her gaze going upwards, letting the rain hit her face. "Not I, though I wish them the best. They deserve it."

"Some would say that most dreams deserve the best," Shino observed. "And that they should be given all the time in the world to grow."

"You sound like my sister," Hanabi said, bringing her gaze down to fix him with an indecipherable expression.

Shino let a faint smile touch his lips--it was not as if anyone would see it, not behind the high collar of his jacket. "I would agree. Hinata does sound much like that on occasion."

She shrugged. "I disagree with sentiments like that."

And yet, Shino thought, she stood all alone on a bridge and remembered to say good-bye to them. Not unfeeling, though her detractors would insist she was as such. "What do you agree with then?"

"That some dreams will come to fruition," she said quietly, "that others will die before they're given a chance. That some that come true won't be for the best, and that some that die would've changed everything. That's how it really works. We can only give breath to so many dreams, help so many find their way to fly, and then it's up to the dreamers to see how far each dream goes."

“And when the dreamers fall?” he asked, pleased with her answer to that question—it was an interesting answer, and Shino was rather fond of those.

Hanabi glanced over at him, eyes sad for a moment, before regaining their usual frost. He suspected she would deny any change in expression, and good manners forbade him from commenting on it besides. “Then we mourn, learn from their mistakes, and move on to others who’re still doing their best to fly. If all you do is concern yourself with who crashed and burned, then you’ll never see who made it work and how far they flew.”

“As in all things,” he interjected smoothly when she paused to consider her next few words, “in all things moderation is key. Forget too much of those who crashed, and you repeat their mistakes, but dwell too long on them and you’ll never dare to reach the heights others have already made.”

Her smile that time was appreciative, if small. “You’re an interesting man, Aburame.”

Shino permitted one eyebrow to inch upwards fractionally. “Interesting is an unusual turn of phrase when referring to another person.”

“Not really,” she said, smug undertones running through her voice. “You have eyes, Aburame, so I’m sure any chance for misinterpretation was neatly negated by supplemental information.”

It was a rare time when he was moved to laugh, even when he was amused—too many years of being quiet and contained had that sort of effect—but Shino let a small huff of laughter out at that. “And how shall I take that, I wonder?”

She sniffed. “Big words can hide a small brain,” Hanabi informed him. “And can further misinformation farther than words that are spoken plainly. What I chose to use and what I comprehend aren’t the same thing at all.”

“You yourself, in turn, are proving to be interesting,” he noted. True though, that people could not be judged solely on what words they chose to express themselves with.

Her lips curved into half a smile. “I shall endeavour to take that as a compliment.”

He’d meant it as one. Actually saying so would upset the precarious balance they were creating though. They had never been friends—Shino was well aware of the fact that, too, Hinata might take it as a betrayal if he were to get along better with her ‘little sister’ than herself.

Which had little to do with anything, past or present, when the ‘little sister’ was stepping so admirably into the role her father had given her. The fact that Hyuuga Hanabi was an engaging conversationalist had no bearing on Hinata. “The simplest conclusion is also the correct one in this case.”

She just laughed, and they let the rain fall down around them.


End file.
